


Protect You

by tessdebelle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gore, Graphic Violence, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle AU - Freeform, Warm Bodies, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:46:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1729970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessdebelle/pseuds/tessdebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The New Hunger has torn apart what had once been a peaceful word. Scientists look for a cure every day, but nothing has been found and people are losing their lives faster than they can be saved. Supplies are scarce and Moe French is determined to protect his daughter, but Belle believes that there might be a way to cure them, if she could just get close enough. Warm Bodies AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Until My Blood Boils

He hadn’t always felt this alone.

No, that wasn’t exactly true. He had the distinct idea that, even in his life before he’d died, he wasn’t a happy man. His clothes were dirty, but he could make out a suit that had once been neat and tidy. His face was aging, but now it didn’t change. But it didn’t look like he’d smiled much before.

The place that he wandered around now with the other undead was a kind of undead paradise. When he’d been able to read he could’ve read the sign giving their little rotting haven a name, but now it was just a strange mix of letters he couldn’t distinguish.

He wants to understand these things. It would be nice to understand them. To make sense of each tiny shard of memory and image that were scattered over what consisted of his mind and work them together into a life. But, while he thought he might have more moments of clarity than the others, his brain was still a decomposing pink mass that wasn’t any value to anyone and couldn’t work properly like the live brains that served as the food for his kind.

As the thought of the pulsing minds filled with thoughts and emotions made it through his train of thought, he felt the hunger start to creep in again. Given the fact that he didn’t have much left in the way of organs – though, not so bad as the bone-like creatures, wraiths, that wandered around – it wasn’t like the growl of a stomach that he remembered from being alive. No, it was a pain that he couldn’t describe, an emptiness that could only be filled with living flesh. Animals wouldn’t suffice – only human.

He lumbered across the abandoned town streets to what had once been a diner. He had holed himself up in a shop on the corner of one of the streets, and it was where he kept his things. 

The hatter thought his things were strange. None of them remembered having names, but the hatter was the closest he had to a friend – called so because he had gotten his head cut off in the middle of an attack some time ago and it could be removed like he would a hat. In the former shop he kept anything he found that sparkled and interested him. 

Gold cufflinks. A candelabra. Several rings, watches, a diamond necklace. A sword. He liked gold and bright things. 

Bright things that shone in his dark world. 

The former diner was mostly rotting old food, the other dead travelling around and gathering. It was there that the hatter sat, groaning in the undead way they all did.

“Food.” He managed, sitting next to him as best he could. He not only was a rotting corpse, but his leg had gotten injured and made it difficult to move well, even worse than the shuffling everyone else did. He didn’t remember how his leg had gotten damaged, but he suspected it had happened before he had died.

The hatter just grunted, picking with his torn fingers at the chipping paint of the counter. “Need… Need others.” He said, turning to look at him. The hatter’s head turned without the rest of his body in a way that, if he had been capable of it, would make him sick. He nodded and stood. 

They travelled in packs, usually, to feed. The living would kill them on sight, so they gathered together to fight back. They weren’t fast and weren’t a force alone, but together they were strong. 

Getting a group of others to join him and go into the city wasn’t difficult. They seemed to be almost permanently hungry. It was a way to forget that they were dead and feel something close to alive and energy, taking it from someone else in the process.

They shuffled down empty streets as a group, a thick wall of death moving together as a unit rather than individuals. 

They might be violent and eat anything that breathes, but at least they were a community. 

“Smell… Flesh.” One of the ones he didn’t recognize groaned out. He tilted his head to take in the scent, and he could smell it then. Flesh that smelled like spring and happiness and smiles and life. His mouth practically watered at the scent. 

They followed the scent to the collection of the living. They lived in a secluded little area with electric fences and guards around the clock, but nearby was an abandoned shopping center that they could tell held more of the living.

His collection of other undead burst in to a group of what looked like teenagers, young adults, ready to feast. They were armed with heavy guns and knives and energy, but he and the rest of the walking corpses had rotting, sharp teeth, the drive of hunger, and no emotion for the preservation of human life. Hunger’s a great spur.

He jumped to the first living he saw. A strong, fit older man, perhaps even just a boy, built tall and heavy. He didn’t usually have a preference for any flesh other than living. Others liked women or fattier humans, but he didn’t care. He latched onto the larger male who tried to swing him off with the side of his rifle, but he held tight, blood-encrusted fingernails digging into his arm as he bit down into the boy’s neck and hot, warm red blood seeped out of his wound, flesh tearing easily and submitting to his mouth. 

While the taste of fresh blood was too sweet to be missed, he wanted what everyone else wanted; the brains were the best part of the living. They held the memories, the thoughts of them, and it was more than his dead and still heart could ever hope to feel. Gripping the lad by his head he cracked his skull easily and dug his fingers into him, pulling out his soft, pink brains and ripping his teeth into it like a beast with its prey.

They were monsters, beasts. All of them. That was his last thought before it all disappeared into the memories of the boy he had just killed.

His name was Gaston. Gaston Leur. He was four years old and living in a car with his mama and papa. Their home had been taken by the disease and he was travelling to one of the safe havens they had all heard about when there had been an attack. He woke to his mother, pulling him out of the site as corpses started to tear open his father’s chest. His mother was crying as they drove away from the scene, but he didn’t understand-

His name was Gaston. Gaston Leur. It was his first day in the safe haven. Mother was a nurse treating the wounded and he was going to the school. He was older than many, and bigger. Some of the other boys were picking on a girl smaller than him, and he came to them. “Hey!” He shouted, punching one of them. The girl stood and looked at him, brown curls bouncing around her face. “Thank you.” She said, wide blue eyes shining. “My name is-“

His name was Gaston. Gaston Leur. It was his first day in the safe haven. Mother was a nurse treating the wounded and he was going to the school. He was older than many, and bigger. Some of the other boys were picking on a girl smaller than him, and he came to them. “Hey!” He shouted, punching one of them. The girl stood and looked at him, brown curls bouncing around her face. “Thank you.” She said, wide blue eyes shining. “My name is Belle.“

His name was Gaston. Gaston Leur. He was fifteen years old and someone had handed him his first gun. Belle was standing behind him as he shot the undead down and a bullet went through the skull of what used to be Belle’s mother. She was crying in his arms and-

His name was Gaston. Gaston Leur. Belle was lying on the grass, reading a book. People didn’t read anymore, not when there was fighting to be done, but Belle’s father wouldn’t let her fight. She looked beautiful, brown curls set off by the rare sunlight spilling through-

His name was Gaston. Gaston Leur. He was going into training. Belle begged him not to, but he turned away and ignored her. He had no time for emotions. There were people out there getting killed and-

He was back to not having a name, no identity. The memories of Gaston Leur, that had been so sharp and vivid, quickly faded into the carnage of corpses and the dead, limp body of Gaston Leur having lost his life.

He licked his lips, wanting more of this peace, feeling like he had a life and people who cared, when he looked up to see the wide blue eyes from Gaston’s memories staring back at him, looking panicked and fierce all at once. Things in his world weren’t light. He lived in a world of murky darkness, of blood and disgust and cold. Nothing was that blue. Nothing was that bright. Not even the things he collected in his little shop that sparkled every shone so bright or made him feel like he would be overwhelmed if he looked directly.

Nothing had ever been such a bright flicker of light amidst his ocean of darkness.


	2. Hungry Hearts

There were too many ‘if only’s in Belle’s life. 

If only things had never gone wrong.

If only someone had found a cure when there was time.

If only Mom hadn’t gotten killed.

‘If only’s, though, didn’t get you anywhere in life. That was what Emma and Ruby said whenever she tried to dream of a better world, a place where she could leave the Storybrooke Dome walls without fear of getting torn to shreds. Papa said the same, giving her a sad look that made Belle know he wished she could be happy kept inside like a rodent, but almost glad. She couldn’t get hurt, behind their city walls, and he could protect her. 

Storybrooke Dome wasn’t a bad place, admittedly. From what she knew of the others, they were better off. They were good at growing their food, kept safe, their walls well-insulated.

Still, there were things from the world that Belle had only known as a child she missed. Books, especially. There were books in the dome, but no one read anymore.

It was all about killing and guns and security. 

“Drifting off again?” 

Belle started in her seat when her boyfriend, Gaston, asked her this. Boyfriend was a bit of an exaggeration, but it was close enough. She probably would’ve liked him more, but after years of training and work, he seemed to have turned into a zombie, for lack of a better description. No, he didn’t smell like rotting flesh or have any bones on display, but it was like he spoke in monotones. He didn’t joke when he asked if she was drifting off- they were in the middle of a meeting and she was required to pay attention.

She understood the reasoning, of course. It was going out into the abandoned parts of the city to look for medicine and supplies, but she was tired of fighting. It was exhausting keeping a gun on her at all times, and even worse was killing the corpses. They had once been living, breathing people with lives, and it hurt to destroy the last remnants of that.

Her mind flashed to her mother once again. Her mother who had gone out looking for supplies because her fourteen-year old daughter had missed reading so much that she went looking for books at the abandoned library, and had gotten bitten. A week later, she’d watched as Gaston shot her mother and they’d lost everything.

Dad had never been the same. 

“Hello, and thank you for your service today. In the eight years since this plague destroyed our world, since we erected this wall, we have counted on young volunteers like you to gather resources from beyond the wall. But first, a word of caution. Corpses look human, they are not. They do not think. They do not bleed. Whether they were your mother or your best friend, they are beyond your help. They are uncaring, unfeeling, incapable of remorse.” That was him. Moe French, one of the leaders of their tiny community. Her dad had fallen apart after mom died, and, while Belle still saw bits and pieces of the father she’d grown up with and loved, there wasn’t a lot of him left. Now he was determined to kill every corpse he saw, because they’d killed her mother. “Just picture them as this.” An image flashed on the nearest screen of one of the undead, racing toward the screen before getting shot and falling. She shivered. 

“As sons and daughters of possibly the sole remaining human settlement on Earth, you are a critical part of what stands between us and extinction. Therefore you have an obligation to return to us safely. And if you remember your training, you will. Good luck, Godspeed, and God bless America.” 

It had taken a long time to convince her father to let Belle go out with Gaston’s squadron of people looking for medicine. Most of her friends were in the group; Ruby, Belle’s best friend for as long as she could remember. Emma, one of the greatest fighters in the group of them. Graham, who was recently a part of their city after his had gotten destroyed, and he’d come all alone. 

Archie Hopper stood off from the group. Dr. Hopper had been one of Belle’s best friends for most of her life and had taken care of her when her father was doing his work as a leader, but he wasn’t a fighter. No, Archie was a researcher still looking for the cure, although nearly everyone had given up on finding one. Belle was glad he was looking for one- at least someone still had hope. 

“Alright, guys. We’re going to walk single file through the city. Each person will be ten steps behind the other to minimize deaths in case of attack. You should each have a standard issue military automatic rifle. Keep that on your person at all times.”

At Gaston’s command, they filed out of the gates of their city, immediately slammed shut after them. Belle stood in the very middle of the pack- it had taken a lot of work to convince her father to let her go on the mission, but he had ordered Gaston to keep her protected.

It didn’t matter. Zombies would go for what was easy, and if she were looking for something that wouldn’t take a lot of work to fight, a tiny brunette would be a lot easier-looking than a muscly leader of the pack. 

The long march through the city to what had once been the Dark Star Pharmacy was tiring, but their training had given Belle enough strength that she could go on comfortably. Ruby already looked uncomfortable and sore, but Gaston seemed stiff as a statue.

“This is it.” He whispered, all of them knowing full-well how strong the senses of the dead were. They could smell flesh from miles away, and hearing was incredible. He leaned in to check that the store was clear before ushering each of them in. 

The pharmacy, while dusty and dark, held supplies that she knew would be worth a lot for them. Bottles of medicines and bandages, medications, anything they needed. “Do you think we’ll find anything like a cure?” She whispered to her friend Ruby. 

Ruby was tall and slender, and often drew more attention than Belle ever had. Although they tended to keep fully-covered so that bites would be more likely to hit clothing than skin, Ruby wore tight clothes and had brought makeup when she’d come with her Grandma to their city. “No one is looking for a cure anymore, Belle.” Gaston said. She turned. He was lifting up a crate of advil bottles and putting them all into a backpack he’d brought with him as he spoke, not looking up.

“Dr. Hopper is.” Ruby defended, looking stubborn. As they spoke, there was a slight thud that caused several bottles to shake. They were trained to be cautious, so Belle was a little worried she was paranoid and had just imagined it until Emma spoke up.

“You guys hear that?” She asked, looking nervous. Emma was one of their best fighters, but she also had a ten year old son to take care of back in the city that she didn’t want to become an orphan. Belle nodded, and Emma, second in command, turned to Gaston. “We should go. It’s not safe.”

“The city needs this medicine. Mr. French is right – They’re counting on us to come back with this stuff.”

“No, they’re counting on us to come back, period.” Ruby hissed. Belle looked between the group of them, about to voice her own thoughts when she heard the final growls and screams and knew it was too late. 

In seconds, the living corpses were crashing through the door and attacking. Belle tugged her gun from her belt and had it loaded in seconds, but she felt more stunned than everything as she heard screams. The room was quickly a blur, and she couldn’t make sense of it. She ducked behind a counter, feeling flashes of red in her vision as she heard the screams of her friends, but one pierced the air sharper than any other. In her haste to see if the scream she heard was who she thought, her gun fell, and all Belle had was the knife in her belt loop.

“Gaston?” She shouted with wide eyes, seeing his body fall to the ground. Dead, bites scattered across his arms and skull cracked open. More than anything, she felt like she was going to be sick to her stomach when she felt someone’s gaze on her. Shaking, Belle turned, pulling out the short knife and gripping it with shaking fingers. 

Although some corpses looked more human than others, Belle could tell this man was dead. A bullet hole pierced his shoulder through what looked like ruined suit. Blood, both fresh and dry, was around his mouth and neck, and his eyes were a disturbing color somewhere between gold and brown that held the flickers of whatever was keeping this dead flesh moving. 

Belle felt like she wasn’t breathing. It wasn’t exactly fear, because fear was stronger than this, but she felt like she was frozen as this zombie stood before her. His breath was labored, but he wasn’t diving in, he wasn’t going for the kill like every other corpse she’d ever seen. 

No, but he was staring at her more intently than she’d ever seen. With more purpose than she’d ever seen in the eyes of the undead. His hand shook as it came to touch her, and Belle tensed, expecting this. This was the moment she would die, and it wasn’t unexpected. This was the world now. She kept trying to believe in a cure, that there was some humanity, but-

But rather than trying to devour her, Belle felt the gentlest touch to her cheek, the shaking palm of whoever this man had once been moving across and spreading the dark blood of some unknown person across her cheek and neck. Her eyes met hers, breathing just as heavily as he was now, and the fact that she should be afraid of someone – something; they weren’t people, that was what everyone said – looked just as afraid as she should’ve felt. 

“Protect… You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it is, I still have a lack of a beta. Which is upsetting. Please message me if interested!

**Author's Note:**

> This came out a lot faster than I’d expected. Once I really got started, it seemed to just pour out. It’s a little short, but I’m not a long writer and this is just the beginning of the fic.


End file.
